So moved, I wrote Mr. Georgiades the following e-mail. Maybe he'll respond. Maybe not, it sort of does not matter. It was good to reconnect with my reunion feelings, and better still to write.
This morning, after shuttling my child to fifth grade, I returned home to tidy the weekend 'spreadlam' of livingroom Lego and Sunday paper sectionry. It was blessed serendipity to find your gem of an essay at the back of yesterday's NY Times Magazine. Honestly, it moved me to tears.
I was given up for adoption at birth, though my first mom visited me at Lenox Hill hospital for six months until I was healthy enough to be signed over to foster care. Single and 20 she was free to move about the rest of her life, and she did. I was adopted at 13 months. Forty-two years later we re-met over the phone late one night. I had just divorced, moved twice, completed graduate school and received my teaching masters - the same degree she received, at the same age years before.
Our first conversation lasted two hours. The parallels were uncanny (they still unfold with unexpected quirk and startling familiarity). Most striking that first phone call was the sound of my voice on the other end of the line. When she picked up and said, "Hello?" my breath stopped a little It was me. The knowing that moment was a deep physical "Yes." There was no doubt I'd found the right person. The closing line in your essay says it perfectly, "Oh, there you are." Yes.
Eighteen years of intermittant searching led me to find her, my three half siblings (we share the same mother), and my birth father, who, after one phone conversation five years ago on my 40th, bade me to "...have a good life and thanks for calling" and that was that. I know who he is and have Googled him, his other children (my siblings, I suppose) and relations but I've made no further contact... we all look so much alike.
The rest of us, my birth mother and her other children, have been developing our relationships bit by bit. They are in Boston, we live on L.I. We visit once a year there, average; sometimes more. It has been grounding for me to reconnect. Slow going, however, and since there is no script no one really knows what to say or do or what is "normal" or right.
I wonder what it would have been like to grow up with them, with her as a mother. To live on an indian reservation in Montana for several years because our mom read an article in National Geographic about people who wanted a library and a school but had no money, so she simply moved us there to help. I have included myself imaging all of us returning east to attend Harvard, (like her other three). In reality, a midwestern women's college is my alma mater.
Who would I be - if I learned, played, dated, wandered and loved through New England (with Thanksgivings in Maine) - if I didn't grow up here on "Lawn Guyland"? Maybe I wouldn't love sailing, or the ocean, or Oregon. Some of the birth family parallels are excellent confirmations of who I am organically. But some of them point rudely, almost cruelly, to how I 'should have' been rather than who I turned out to be, so far. There is still time to relearn, I think.
The counterpart to this good stuff is that despite being nice, educated, loving people my adoptive parents and sibling (younger, natural to them) have adopted something else: woundedness as a result of my find. They don't get 'the whole birth family thing'. They don't understand how my daughter can refer to my birth mom as "grandma" without resevation or suspicion. And greater irony still, or a greater wound perhaps, is that I was able to conceive my own child; my adoptive sister can not. Very recently she became an adoptive parent herself, and because of this new baby, someone else's "real" baby, there has been a slight shift.
Thank you for starting my week in such a thought provoking way, with such a personal and beautiful essay.
I've torn it out and hung it above my desk.
I may even send it to my first mom.
- Location:Home office. Land of the Free.
- Mood:
Good. Busy. Creative. - Music:muffled WFUV from downstairs
This morning I received a Note from The Universe. Here it is:
To all those who might ever doubt the power I have to make their fondest dreams a reality, their greatest hopes manifest, and their most outrageous thoughts become things... I ask, have you pondered eternity lately? Did you know there are 10 sextillion stars (not to mention planets)? Have you looked into a mirror and seen the glint in your eye, the tint of your skin, or the warmth of your smile?
The Universe
-----------------------------------
Pretty cool message.
So tell me WHY this morning, when I wake up trying hard
- not to acknowledge the growing feeling of being so scared
- and TELLING myself for too long “I’m not doing anything” and
- “I am such a lazy ungrateful person” and , that
- “it's impossible for me to be successful without an office job”
- and “ it’s time to put the resume back out on Monster.com and those other cattle-farm-job-hunting Websites…”
WHY does today’s message bother me to the point of getting teary?
It’s not “hormones”. It’s not family stuff. I know exactly what it is: my belief system has undergone a shift - and I do not like it. For the past few weeks I have felt less sure of things, less faithful and less confident everything will turn out beautifully this summer - and beyond.
Shortly after losing my job in April I became very positive. Despite the odds, my spirits were incredibly high and I felt as though I could do anything. ANYTHING. Losing my job has given me all this wonderful (albeit very broke!) experimental time. In the beginning, panicked, I immediately found part-time off the books work; neither job really ‘fit’ but but the experience was/is invaluable.
Six weeks later, I left the local magazine gig; I had been acting as an art facilitator three afternoons a week, too but the proprietor cannot pay me but still needs help. She would like me to market her business, etc, but she is not providing me materials on any timely basis and that is profoundly frustrating.
So, for the month of June, I have been pretty much flat. And after three exciting rounds of interviews, demo lesson, and conversations, I did not get either job at the local Christian private school. Maybe that's has something to do with my mood, too....
So, marketing the art studio/school has ground to pretty much a halt, and the magazine gig hasn't paid me a cent, and I am doing nothing with my time (which will eventually run out).
I hear what I tell myself and the negative words are many. Not, Should, Can't, How.
I really miss the mindset I had in May: it was surprisingly positive and very open to possibility and I honestly believed - to my very core - anything and everything good would be mine. Perhaps I need to find my faith before I re-start my job hunt. I would love guidance and stronger intuitive sense of how this is going to unfold. My patience is being tested as is my faith...
... as the neighbor's child picks out "Amazing Grace" on their upright piano next door.
- Location:Home, Sweet.
- Mood:
Unsure. - Music:Neighbor's workmen chipping; mother bird in window, scolding and feeding.
(might not know ever)
you might presume this is for you
(or you're too jaded to accept this could be for you)
or, maybe you're not sure you're deserving of anything
free
from a heart
without consequence or expectations
unconditional
for no reason
(we may never know, really)
leaps of faith exist reason unknown
and for that i love you
(on your way now)
don't turn back on your way
it is all ways right here.
- Location:home, sweet.
- Mood:
drinkin' it all in - Music:none
Today I received an angry e-mail from <drum roll, please> FF or "former fiance" - [the intelligent and sexy alcoholic who wouldn't admit his problem, tried AA, lied about attending, and decided it was easier to hide drinking a fifth, quart or whatever-it-is of Jim Beam in his room at home rather than face the bullshit and get a handle on his problem. (I say that because he confessed to "only having had a drinking problem during and after my marriage of four years..." I met him a couple years post-marriage/divorce and his "only" problem was that he was - still - a drinker.]
Against ALL my internal signals I tied the blinders on very snug and dated this man for several years, even weakly accepted a marriage-cum-sobriety proposal one Valentine's Day weekend about three years ago.... At 40-something I knew better. When his lying became unbearable I finally had enough and Break-Up Attempt #1 happened.
As of last summer I think I was up to about eight FAILED attempts. Eight. Simple math - make that, what? - about two or three times a year? Sweet Jesus. Who has the addiction here??
Unfortunately, I'm what some people call "too nice." Others call it "stupid." Still others call it, "indifferent and ambivalent"... if only they knew. <sigh> If I had a therapist s/he'd say I was co-dependent. Because of this character flaw the break-up process (if you can call it an actual process) took longer than the actual good/fun part of the relationship (which was in the very beginning). As of last summer we were at five years. The first six months was a mix of great attraction and passion with a healthy panic on my part as I tried internally to work out the details of his closet drinking (which I hated, and instead of learning how to deal with it - which would have been to break with him completely ) but I donned the old blinders and stayed. The second and third year we did things together - a few family dinners, a holiday dinner (my mother made that into a disaster and, sadly, I reacted the way I always have... poorly); we went on a group camping trip with his long-time friends; a couple get away weekends to a charming fishing shack in Napeague Bay. We had fun when I wasn't worrying in the back of my mind, about whether or not he was being honest....
What made things worse for me was that being alone together was fine. We cooked, drew or read together or separately, took walks, sat in front of the fireplace; sometimes we read to each other. I loved those times - they were safe and sober and peaceful. They were what I'd hoped to have from the start.
Inside I knew: The unspoken truth has always been that the ultimate source of our demise would be his issue(s) and how he shat on my trust. (Which is partially my fault for staying after it happened a second, third, fourth time....) And the fact that I am at my core not able (which is not "can't" or "don't want to" or "won't") to be any closer.
No amount of love, sex, food preparation, offers to do laundry, or offers to 'just trust' him were enough. Nor was there anything I could do, say, be, act-as-if, pray for, draw-the-line about that would miraculously brign back my ability to trust. He wants more time and affection than I am willing to give. And I don't like being pushed or told how I should be scheduling my free time; or that I should be going to therapy (in order to find a way to be with him), or being told if I'd 'just listen' or 'just spend more time' or 'just do what I suggested'.
I am not an addict. I'm pretty bad at hiding stuff. I keep a blog and had a '365' project, and a page on StumbleUpon... not hiding. And he might agree with one exception. I have vanished slowly rather than pull the band-aid that holds literally nothing in place. I do care for and love him; but he is not the right man for me.
It's not a match no matter how many times he proclaims love or a need to be needed, or that we can just sleep together whenever I'm missing him... No. I cannot drag us through anymore, no matter how I did it before - through the "maybe this time" of experience.
This, after alternately writing how much he understood my need to separate, have my space, cultivate my hobbies and friendships, be independent, But he doesn't understand. He doesn't like what I have to say because it leaves him with nothing but his addiction, feelings of abandonment (which are crippling for many people), and the plain truth (in place long before we met).
I'd hoped my feelings would change on their own.
And I am no longer able to do it anymore. Again.
- Location:Home, Sweet.
- Mood:
Restless but OK - Music:night nesting birds in the AC outside my home office
To the couple in the park last Friday - 74 (Suffolk Co, Long Island (if it matters))
Reply to: pers-670940342@craigslist.org
Date: 2008-05-06, 10:46PM EDT
Wandering around the park last Friday in the grey afternoon, and I saw the two of you there, on the observation deck that juts out into the pond. The female of your pairing was a tallish redhead with a full shapely figure wearing a camera around her neck and a blue jean jacket; you, the male - and I suppose I'm really writing this to you - you stood about eight inches taller (say 6'4" or so?) with a dark jacket and closely cropped hair. Silvering evenly. I'd guess you were both in your mid-40's? You might be a bit older than your friend.
(We were a party of three "older" people. I say that because surely everyone not our age sees us as older or elder, a term that makes me shudder. We're in our 70's but in no way elderly!) We stepped onto the deck where you and your friend were talking, (it was actually your laughing that made us take notice of the deck), and though my wife thought I was listening to her share details of the local nesting pairbonded wild fowl it was you two to whom I was tuned in. Your conversation was more interesting and, well, I'm an eavesdropper at heart.
Between my wife's loving migration informative (which repeats every spring, 45 years in October) I heard soundbites of your conversation but never really caught the full dialogue. I wish I had. I would have loved to offer you some advice - but free advice has such a bad rap these days. Today, days later, I wish I'd said something to you.
"... don't know how I got myself into this. Again."
"You look good."
"So do you. It has been a long time."
"I'm glad you came."
"She has taken taxi's to the liquor store! And wrecked, now, two cars! What am I supposed to do?"
"Have you seen your folks recently?"
"My family is worried about me."
"Because they love you, that's why..."
"My therapist tells me she'll never change, there'll be other lies, another relapse.... I just don't know."
"You're not married to her... are you...?"
"No, thankgod."
"So if you were to exit it wouldn't be as tricky if you were, you know, married?"
"I drive her to work. I play taxi."
"When does she own up and take responsibility for herself and her actions?"
"Don't you feel you deserve better?"
"Listen, I can't stay the whole time.... I have to get back. I'm sorry."
And there were things said about your work, her children (child?), and what sounded like bittersweet regret and the hope of possibility. You sounded like old friends in easy conversation, close and caring... there was something else but I couldn't define it.
Secretly I was hoping to myself you were lovers. The attraction you had was obvious from afar; it was tangible at closer range.
If it were acceptable I would have turned to you both and told you to get off your butts and stop being so "nice." The time to live and love is now! Unite and live together as a couple in love and support. Son, if you could see the way that woman looks at you when you're speaking.... it's what made me choose my wife, and why we're together, and why I love her like no other: we click. We always have. She listens. She loves me, and she accepts my flaws and the stupid mistakes of my past.
You have something there, guy. If you asked me I'd say you're a fool to let your life be run by someone whose own life is out of control. Make peace with the drinking woman but leave her to her own life. (Trust me on this one. You can't change her. And you can't love or pray or demand her to stop using her drugs or stop drinking.) Do something better with your time, son. Any guy'd be drop-dead euphoric to have your lady friend as a date, mate, lover. Open your eyes, son.
Open your eyes.
- Location: Suffolk Co, Long Island (if it matters)
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 670940342
- Location:Home onda range.
- Mood:
Curiously fresh. - Music:WFUV downstairs; Pandora, up.
I've 'done' therapy and found it worked best as a place to acquire skills or tools, if you will. Get me some new tools, go into the world, try 'em out... If they worked I didn't return to therapy for a while. If they didn't work - or if I wasn't working them - I'd head back to the therapist for another go. Once I chewed away at the really big stuff therapy was all about tool-sharpening and skills acquisition. You might call it "maintenance."
With my current schedule what it is office appointment therapy sessions are out of the question. So, instead, I read. Two of the more helpful books I've listed below. (Both are quite good, well written. I'm reading the second one again, and read the notes I highlighted in the first to remind me not to make knee-jerk choices when it comes to relationships - any - not just romantic. This part is pretty easy as I'm not "invovled" at the moment.)
Too Good to Leave, Too Bad to Stay: A Step-by-Step Guide to Help You Decide Whether to Stay In or Get Out of Your Relationship (Paperback)
by Mira Kirshenbaum (Author)
Codependent No More: How to Stop Controlling Others and Start Caring for Yourself (Paperback)
by Melody Beattie
The reading helps. I like the pace of reading and being able to go back and re-read.
Therapy helped, too. Sometimes after a session I'd sit in my car and write like crazy (that's funny), reiterating the entire hour so I could remember the revelations, learn, and heal.
A good therapist will challenge you to see and hopefully accept all the parts of yourself, even the ones you keep ignoring... It took a while but I learned my ignored bits were expert troublemakers, and they purposely got in the way (or were put in the way <ahem>) to keep me in a familiar cycle of whatever-it-was I was ultimately trying to change. The thing no one ever tells you is that a good therapist is a guide - they don't do the work. You do. So if you're not experiencing "results" don't blame your therapist. Blame yourself.
Therapy is hard. It has been said the more you are willing to dig and haul out the rotting, irritating, under-shit that is literally eating away at you, the better off you will be. You know - like the eggplant you forgot in the crisper drawer...? Yeah, that stuff.
Deep, honest introspection can be ugly, humiliating, mind-numbing and darkly depressing. It exposes you. It can wreck you for days - weeks - especially when you slam into a nerve you didn't know existed... or were ignoring. Especially when you're finally facing stuff you are afraid of or indignant to change in the first place. Ideas, beliefs, behaviors, reasonings (or lack of any of those things).
Back in my 20's I had a lot of ignored bits. There were a few biggies in my 30's that needed face-offs, too.
The funky thing is that when I shoved my head back under the sand to keep ignoring stuff, there they all were: staring back at me from the dark. Big, HUGE, white eyes like in a cartoon when the scene suddenly plunges into pitch black ,and only the character's eyeballs are lobbing about the screen. Eventually I couldn't run, they couldn't hide, and I was literally sick of being in so much pain all the time, stuck in relationship after relationship that I could not save, be loved in or enjoy: I finally, blessedly reached The End. Something had to change - and, ultimately what happened is that I made the decision to let go of what no longer worked, what hurt me or tried to. This included people - family, lovers, friends; ideas about myself and who I was. The words "just" and "supposed" were examined closely.
The letting go was terrifying because when we get rid of something - anything - it leaves a void. We fear change and being or feeling different. The unfamiliar is awfully scary territory.
But you learn.
... when you have spaces, other (better) things come in. Things you can choose - and that feels pretty good. New, yes, but good, too. (When you clean out the garage and you can finally put your car in there... so change isn't always so complicated or daunting but it does require effort.)
You have to trust the process, trust yourself, find your intuition again (because it's still in there) and keep going. You learn.
Trust and allow change and healing to happen, even if it's a few baby steps at a time.
OX
- Location:Home, Sweet.
- Mood:
Happy, centered. - Music:The wind blowing outside.
Since meeting with the Creativity Coach last month, and now once (out of the two times scheduled) this month, I note subtle change. Dare I say "changeS"? It's some sort of progress all the same.
Mostly efforts to ask my intuition questions, tell myself I am going to dream AND I am going to recall my dreams just before waking, and finally to journal the answers to my questions.
But before I go any further, a nod of gratitude to the Coach, Elizabeth. Here is a snippet from her site:
Your Life and Career at Midlife!"
This whole thing began when my close friend read a notice at the local library for a free, two-session Living a More Creative Life (or the like) workshop. It turned out to be less of a workshop and more like healthy group therapy. Seven women ranging in age from 40-something to 80-something and the coach. We discussed individually our goals and stumbling blocks but mostly pointed ourselves toward what we really wanted from life in terms of what we could provide ourselves - with our talents, abilities, and life experiences. Having been let go literally two days before the first free session the timing couldn't have been better.
This Tuesday was our fourth meeting (the second as people officially being coached. Read: it's not free now - but worth every penny.) The coach is a great listener, very funny when appropriate (and when not), and her feedback and suggestions are bright and insightful. I like her, and I like this experience very much.
Here is a piece of art I made last Sunday, partially out of the need to create something for a charity event, and partially because I am giving myself permission to be happy , make stuff, and get the heck out of my own way. It's really that simple and it's really that difficult (for me).
This is one of my favorite quotes. Buddha. It says, "What you think you become." Truer words never spoken. I found it resonates regulary through my head. It's a reminder, a mantra, a guide. It's what I want for my life. Positive, empowering, with clarity.
The frame will be sold at The Innkeeper's Ball next weekend for $100.00. All frames are donated, made by local artists. 100% of the profits are given to the INN (Interfaith Nutrition Network.)
- Location:Home. Alone.
- Mood: Peace, Baby.
- Music:None.
Picture all this in very slow motion. It's about a cannon:
the 'phhhtt' of a match being struck
the 'phwaah' as the match blooms to flame
the flame being passed through space to
meet the end of the fuse
the fuse ignites
and begins to burn down its length toward
the knob
then down into the thin black metal tunnel to the
blasting chamber
where the gunpowder obediently waits
flame meets powder: combustion
the dusty first particulate strikes the dark side of the cannon ball
with incredible force
and the ball - having only one directional option - begins down the cascable toward the muzzle, the round hole at the opposite end
However, instead of taking split seconds to leave the cannon it takes the cannon ball a full four weeks and another business day.
Imagine that. A fired cannon that takes four weeks to expel its cannon ball.
That is exactly what I experienced going to work, sitting at my desk at my now-former job. I was let go officially on Monday, March 10th. My last day was Monday, April 7th a full month and a day after being fired.
It was at the very least awkward, disorienting, confounding, supremely frustrating, angering and frightening.
And, despite having a paid month to seek, interview and network while trying to maintain my 'job' duties I did not find another office gig - nor do I want one.
Office work is boring - I'm good at it - but it's still boring. I know there are a lot of women who make excellent money with skills like mine... but honestly, I'd rather be doing a few different things and piecing a living together rather than sitting in an office every day for years. I admire those people who love the office job life but it is not who I am.
So, in these first two weeks of being officially available I have done the following things:
1. manufactured two costumes for a local costume shop (from pattern cutting to final finish)
[I have no idea what to charge her and she asked me yesterday, "Tell me what I owe you." All suggestions welcome.]
2. begun teaching art at a local arts studio in the after school art program two afternoons a week.
[Studio owner would like me to learn her business, transition as a leader in her program, and eventually take-over some of her classes so she can develop her art therapy practice... and I have no idea, again, what to ask for as a pay rate. ]
3. posted resumes on Monster.com, Careerbuilder.com, Craigslist,org, and created a StumbleUpon page for my tutoring services here: http://1-great-tutor.stumbleupon.com From this, within 20 minutes of posting this page, I received an inquiry from an marketing guy in Greenport, NY asking if I could design a web site for one of his clients... and -
4. Yesterday, I received a signed and notarized Web site design contract for my very first design customer.
5. Next weekend I'm attending a day-long seminar about commercial photography to shoot graduations and marathon runners. It will be a busy seasonal gig and I look forward to adding "commercial photographer" to my resume.
So, there you have it.
It took four slow and painful weeks to eject this cannon ball out of that dark and cruddy hole of a job and into the light ... Thankfully, that cannon was on top of a very high hill so I'm hoping a lot of what's coming is all down hill from here.
And I"m scared.
But excited at possitility and change and growth and the potential of it all.
- Location:Home, Sweet.
- Mood: Ok... It's going to be all
- Music:Birds nesting outside my office
Oh yeah, baby, I lost my job. If anyone out there finds it, let me know. In the meantime it has been extended that I may continue to work here "as long as you need to" while I look for new (and better, more satisfying) work.
Getting snarky is fun. Getting a better job is more fun. Getting a full paycheck to look for a job on the up and up, while doing my job is brilliant. And something was uttered last week about not wanting to turn me "out into the street empty-handed...." Let's hope they practice The Happy ending.
As they tune the pitchfork for the sounding of the Recession Bell off in the distance, I lost my job.
As my boss - impossible to please, hard on the eye though easy on the wallet, and one of the biggest self-centered persons for whom I have been paid to keep [business] company as well as one of the most affluent drama kings in the tri-state area fired me last Monday afternoon.
On the con side:
1) I'm a single income single parent. If you wanted to rearrange the words and use only first letters I'm a PISS but that's not very pretty nor does it accurately allude to my general demeanor which is sassy upbeat smartass (most days).
2) See number one.
On the pro side:
1) Boss did me a very big favor in cutting me loose, AND in offering that I stay, get paid, and look for another path to nirvana.
2) Spiritually, I'm in a MUCH better place than I was three years ago when the IT company let me go - without any warning. That spring the "Easter Bunny" took my car (which is what I told Child) and I had to borrow couple "K" from my father to get it back....Thank goodness for him.
3) I'm not seeing anyone so my embarassment and humiliation, when it creeps in and sits like a wet dog at my feet, isn't shared or whimpered about or whined about. There's no "he'll think I'm a professional Loser Girl and dump my ass on principle."
4) There are too many things I'd love to do in life and this is an excellent time to get my talent in order and use it. Period.
So, that's it.
I'm free, fired but still working, and when everything lands in place it will be a very good thing.
- Location:Bread & Butter Factory (but not for long!)
- Mood: Thinking Positively
- Music:Nada.
Three weeks ago, in a fairly unprecedented move, I posted an ad on Craig's List.
I've done this before, mind you.
In the Rants & Raves section I've snarled about politics, The Ex, and other tedium); in "Free Stuff" and "For Sale" I've scoured and discovered cheap-but-nifty furniture (scored two related, gorgeous, near-brand new, high-end living room pieces - overstuffed - for a song... a very cheap song); and I've posted "Seeking" ads under real estate.
These relationships, if you will, have all been self-serving and defined by my needs at that moment: needed a new home quick; desired furniture for that new unfurnished home; succumbed to mindless, well-written (if I do say so myself) venting on the appropriate board. They've all been quite mutually satisfying pair-offs: open, honest, no bite marks, no snarky morning-after banter, no egos were jabbed, and no, "I'll call you....".
(When I'm feeling really obtuse, it's moderately fun to read other people's nonsense especially in Rants & Raves. Geez, people get REALLY angry and, apparently, anger begets poor spelling, grammar snags and a lot of really awesome foul language mixed with a general lack of common sense. Go see for yourself - why take my word? Here's the 'rnr' for New York City: Rants & Raves. )
But the ad I posted wasn't for furniture or a house or to give someone hell about something, or to give something away (except maybe my fear of the unknown).
My ad was for a date. A strictly platonic date, and it went like this:
Strictly Platonic:
Seeking Date for Afternoon Business Party - Jan 27th - w4m - 44
This Sunday afternoon, my employer's family is throwing a birthday party for their father who turns an elder age this week. I was invited to bring "someone special... if you have one." Well, currently I don't.
The party hosts graciously invited the staff from our office, and everyone with whom I work is married and bringing their spouse. (With the exception of one or two older persons who are happily un-partnered.)So, in this New Year, armed with my You-Only-Live-Once resolution I throw this out to CL.
I'm a 5'8", average redhead (natural), with a good sense of humor, manners, college educated (BFA, MA); excellent speaking voice, who knows how to present herself appropriately.
You would be another business-person-type or perhaps a teacher or writer who is looking for something to do (not to mention unusual. Can we venture to say the hazard potential of this is HUGE? On the other hand the upside could be stellar.)
You're in a suite and tie, and for volunteering your date-only services (which do not include sex and/or PDAs) you will receive a good Kosher mean amongst some very nice folks, and definitely an unusual story to tell.
Party is in Nassau County, north shore, at a Kosher restaurant (good reviews from what I've read), from 1PM - 4:30 PM or earlier if they haul out the cake sooner.No strings. No follow-up expectations. No pay (except the experience!)"
----------------------------------
Nevermind I was hoping for a tall man.
An educated, presentable, nice looking man, unmarried (no two-timing cads).
Nevermind I had no business hoping for particulars.
The replies were as varied as chocolates in a box... or, more appropriately, as varied as the nuts in Planter's Party-Mix. They ranged in age from 29ish to 61ish; in height from an apologetic "only 5'4" but I'm all man" to "I have a great ass, here's a picture" - however tall that is. Yeah, some lifeguard-type sent me a butt-shot (self-taken) in a mirror. Nice tan lines but that was it.
I picked one from the bunch but in hindsight he really picked me. Nice reply to my post, including a picture (which I forwarded immediatley to my best friend). When I told him over the phone - during our first and only conversation the day before the party - I'd pretty much caved-in and chickened out, he said, "Oooh no. We're going. And I am going to be such a great date - you are going to love this - I am going to make you look soooo good. Trust me: You'll have a great time. C'mon, we have to go!"
And - with only a photograph, a couple E-mail stitches in a brief conversation thread - and ONE phone call - I said, "OK. We'll go." (I don't need someone to 'make' me look good but I was curious.)
(Oddly enough, it turned out my best friend knew him.) Sort of. She and her family and this guy were seated randomly together at a Masonic event last year. She vaguely recalled his face over a couple days, so when I replied to his note I mentioned I knew him "sort of..." He confirmed the facts I had and yes it was him. We agreed he'd pick me up at 12:15 PM the day of the party, at my front door.
He was a good date. Gentlemanly, mannered, nicely put together and handsome with a quirky something going on (personality-wise) and he smelled pretty damned good, too, when I got close enough to notice. He was tall, intelligent, and nervous enough to laugh at the whole thing.
We had fun. He remembered just about everyone's name to whom he was introduced. He did the door/chair/refil your drink thing. I enjoyed it, though unfamiliar. My co-workers were slack-jawed that I appeared with a date after a long period of self-imposed 'dating celibacy' (my term), and asked me secretly, "Where the hell did you come up with HIM?!"
We ended the date by 5:30 PM with simple handshake and it was done. "No strings. No follow-up expectations. No pay (except the experience!)"
I said I would.
- Location:Bread & Butter Factory
- Mood:
Good. - Music:chatty co-workers
Just when it seems to be finally settling down - if you can call it that - they go and kill Benazir Bhutto. Assholes.
The irony is not lost: killed in the very city in which her father hung.
Murdered along with several others, in the city where the Palestinian Army breeds and lives.
Normally, I don't have much of a reaction when these things happen - celebrities come and go, race horses retire, disco died, and even "Evil" finally took his last great leap... but this one got me good. What a beautiful, strong and empowered woman. What a dignitary and a stateswoman. What a damned shame they had to kill her.
Damned shame.
My wish is that Bhutto's courage, intelligence, grace, and insights are seeded through the globe in other women and girls. One hopes she has many powerful underlings firmly rooted throughout her country who will rise up and continue her works and mission. She lived in my brain as a woman who would do great things, and did... I hope she accomplished something lasting during her time and that she knew that when she died....
One can shake their weary head at GWBush and ask, "Why are other country's misfortunes taken advantage of by you and your henchmen - without hesitation? Don't we have enough to handle already? When will you pay attention to the way you're financially raping your own countrymen and countrywomen, leaving this beloved nation crippled and infertile? Whatever happened to America the Home of the Brave?"
On a personal note, these things that anger me have the common denominator of selfish, small-minded people with overwhelming self-centered anxiety and control issues...and they really piss me off. Wouldn't it be amazing if all the religious heads got together and made a global pronouncement - in every language, for every major and minor sect, tribe, and belief system - that PEACE was The Way? What if they told everyone we'd all be going to hell (if we're not headed there already) if war and hate didn't cease right now? Would people listen? Some people believe that God "makes" them do things... (like kill other people, for instance). Maybe if God "told" them something different they'd change... is that entirely out of the question?
Sadly, PEACE doesn't sell newspapers or popcorn. It doesn't sell clothing or bonds or homes.
PEACE doesn't create excitement or stir souls into action. War does that. War incites and war inflames and war and hatred stir the pot of humanity. Ugh.
What crazy dysfunction is that? Living from one chaotic mess to another? Who's great idea was that behavior??
Attributes like greed or desire or seduction are never associated with PEACE.
Wouldn't it be interesting if PEACE was sexy? If we advertised PEACE like we advertise better skin and beauty products or automobiles or the Internet? What if we put faces on PEACE - what would they look like?
I dare you to substitute the word PEACE into any commercial text you find and then read it aloud to anyone who will listen.
Let me know what you learn.
PEACE to you and those you love (and those you don't) in this and every New Year.
- Location:Bread & Butter Factory
- Mood: What the heck?
- Music:Tires in the rain
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